


What Happens in the Vegas Quadrant

by babbyspanch, saltslimes



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-11
Updated: 2015-04-11
Packaged: 2018-03-22 07:27:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,231
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3720256
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/babbyspanch/pseuds/babbyspanch, https://archiveofourown.org/users/saltslimes/pseuds/saltslimes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>chicken soup for the soul of a person who's just found out their best friends have been married for twelve years and never told them seriously what the fuck?<br/>Or<br/>Tucker finds out grimmons has been canon all along.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What Happens in the Vegas Quadrant

**Author's Note:**

> based on the tumblr post by literallyepsilon who gave us permission to write this-- thanks again!

Leg day, Tucker had recently decided was invented by criminals.

Evil, sadistic, criminals.

Also, Wash. Tucker had decided the Wash who had actually been ‘evil’ and shot Donut was actually a lot nicer than blue team leader Wash, because evil Wash didn't have their 'best interests as soldiers' at heart. He had just wanted a ‘get out of prison free’ card, and Tucker, as a player of monopoly, could understand that. Hell, he could sympathize even, given the right motivation.

What Tucker couldn’t understand was _why_ Wash was so hell bent on ‘bettering’ him. And it really did seem that the betterment was limited to Tucker, Caboose getting a free pass because he was a little sad every once in a while. And he could already practically lift a warthog, but that was beside the point.

Caboose didn’t even cry. Tucker cried every day somewhere around squat number fifty and screaming lecture number seven.

In the interest of not doing any more squats or listening to another lecture, Tucker had made a tactical retreat across the canyon, where the reds were still setting up their base. They didn't have Caboose's lifting power, so it was taking them a lot longer. Tucker figured it was a great opportunity for some good old fashioned mockery, a charming throwback to their early years as a group. Lost in memories, he reached the other side of the canyon quickly.

As Tucker arrived he saw Grif and Simmons stood over a single box arguing animatedly, hands flying and feet planted firmly on the slightly spongy grass after last nights rain.

Sarge marched on, ignoring the commotion he was obviously used to at this point.

"Grif, _no_. We are _not_ putting a secret food store under the bed. You’ll forget again or complain about how you need to get on your hands and knees to reach it. Remember the bugs last time?"

"So we got a few ants! You need to relax, okay? And I’ll remind you that you were the one that got that ancient fucking cat that peed everywhere!"

"Mr. Widdles was a beloved family member!" Simmons cried, his hands slamming into his hips in his anger.

"Wait, wait, you guys lived together?" Tucker interrupted, announcing his presence and raising an eyebrow inside his helmet. Talk about roommate match up from hell. He was surprised either of them were still alive.

"What are you doing here, blue?" Grif demanded, instead of answering the question.

"Not working out, that’s for damn sure." Tucker replied immediately.

Simmons crossed his arms. "Come on Tucker why would we _not_ be living together?" He paused a moment, re-thinking. "Well, okay there are a few reasons we wouldn't be. The largest of which is Grif's apparent lack of respect for the memory of Mr. Widdles."

Grif muttered angrily before hefting the box and shuffling into the base, Tucker and Simmons following the waddling man.

"Ok, wait, I'm seriously confused though. You guys normally live together? Like outside of military shit." Grif dropped the box to the ground with a heavy thud and turned to face Tucker.

"Well yeah, how many married couples do you know who live in separate houses?" Grif said.

"Well yeah, I guess-- hold the fuck up." Tucker stopped in the middle of the room.

Simmons bumped into him face first and grunted in frustration as he sidestepped around Tucker, rubbing the bridge of his nose as he went to stand beside Grif.

The word 'married' echoed in Tuckers mind.

"You guys are... What?"

"Tucker, we were married before we met you. How do you not know this?" Simmons said.

"Well honestly I was getting really confused as to why you never had a problem with Church's boyfriend jokes but its starting to make a little more sense now!" Tuckers voice was getting slightly panicked and higher pitched. This made no _sense_. Or… Maybe it just made too _much_ sense.

Grif huffed, "and here I was thinking we were being so obviously lovey dovey." He kicked the box at his feet. "Hey, Simmons get your skinny ass unpacking. You know what it's like when I unpack and strain my back and then can't sleep at night and keep tossing and tur-"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. Shut your fat mouth, Grif." Simmons snapped, squatting and opening the box flaps.

"Yeah." Tucker said drily, "too lovey dovey."

"It was a while after basic training. We were on leave and Grif wouldn't stop insisting that we go to the Vegas quadrant--"

"Uh, nuh uh," Grif cut in. "I suggested it, but you're the one who took off in the escape pod."

" _Whatever_ , Grif. Anyway so we ended up spending a week there and we figured, hey fuck it, we're gonna be dead in a month anyways so--"

"So we got married," Grif finished.

"That’s really romantic and all but..." Tucker rubbed the back of his neck. This was going to give him both a headache and great gossip for at least the next week. "So you've been married this entire time? How long did you date for?"

Simmons started counting on his fingers, muttering under his breath.

"Wait do you mean solid dating? Because in basic we broke up _a lot_."

"You guys have seriously been married for--what--twelve years?" Tucker said. Grif shrugged.

"Yeah, sounds about right."

"He may be a stupid fatass, but he's my stupid fatass," Simmons said, shrugging and unwrapping a pair of salt and pepper shakers.

"Shut up, nerd," Grif said, grin sneaking into his voice.

“Moron.” Simmons teased, looking up at him quickly before standing to find a place to put the baubles.

Tucker stared for a moment, then snapped himself out of it.

"Man, this is fucking nuts. Next Wash is gonna be telling me that he and Carolina have been dating this whole time or some shit," he laughed. There was an awkward silence. Grif and Simmons shot each other a look.

"What?" Tucker asked.

"Well," Simmons started.

"We actually had a bet about when you two were going to get together," Grif said.

"Who, me and Carolina?" Tucker snorted. That was pretty ridiculous, even for the reds.

"No, you idiot-- you and Wash," Simmons said. Tucker stopped laughing. His face grew hot and he sent a silent thank you to god for helmets.

"I think me and Carolina is more likely." Tucker said, trying to grin jokingly. “There’s no fucking way Wash is into me. You guys are delusional."

The couple looked at each other for another moment. Then they both burst out laughing. Simmons leaned on Grif, gasping for air. Grif smacked his knee, wheezing. "Okay so you can't gage _anyone's_ emotions, not just ours. That’s a fucking relief."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Tucker demanded, affronted.

Grif smacked him on the shoulder, giving it a squeeze. "You know what buddy. We're gonna let you figure that one out on your own."

"Now get out of our base, you dirty blue," Simmons said. Tucker opened his mouth to say something, and then decided: nah, fuck it, and left. He ran into Caboose on the way back to blue base.

"Hey, Caboose, get a load of this, Grif and Simmons are _married_ ," he said.

"Oh, I knew that," Caboose said. "Just like you and Washington." Tucker just dropped his head into his hands and groaned.

Everyone in this canyon was fucking crazy.


End file.
